Invenium Viam
by Wotcherer
Summary: "I shall either find a way or make one". Patsy must revisit her past, but in doing so she finds out more about herself than she could have ever hoped to. Set after 5.01. [Complete]
1. Chapter I

A/N: This is my first Call The Midwife fic. I've been wanting to write something from Patsy's perspective since we learned about her past, as one of my favourite shows is an 1980s BBC gem called Tenko. I do hope you enjoy.

* * *

Patsy clutched the letter between her hands, resisting the desire to crumple the piece of paper that had been causing her so much anguish over the past few days. First the offending item had been stuffed in the bottom of her bedside cabinet drawer, as she had not quite been able to throw it away, until she could no longer resist letting her eyes pour over the invitation again. And then she had thought long and hard about what the sensible thing to do would be. And after that she had thought about what Delia would tell to her do, which wasn't always the most sensible thing – Deels had always had a far bigger sense of adventure than her – but it always the right thing.

She took a few deep breaths, questioning whether or not she should talk the whole thing through with the other girl, and also questioning why on earth she couldn't bring herself to tell her. Honesty wasn't her strong suit – well, it was. Some would describe her as abrupt, and at her old work even tactless and snobbish. But full, unabashed, open honesty about her feelings? That was difficult. Delia had once said that she fared better with facades, and she was right. Sister Julienne was a kindred spirit in that sense – to the point, with just the right amount of carefully measured empathy.

She rapped her knuckles against the door a few times, and there was silence. She was rather hoping that it went on for long enough so that she could simply walk away, put the letter back at the bottom of the drawer, or perhaps even in the bin – no, better, the fire, she thought bitterly – and forget all about it. No, goodness, that would be the day. But alas, she was beckoned inside. The stoic yet kindly nun glanced up, raising her eyebrows. She gave little away, but enough for Patsy to know that the other woman did not expect it to be her paying an impromptu evening visit to her office. Trixie perhaps, to update her of her progress with her AA meetings, or more recently to ask favours regarding the scheduling of her keep fit classes, or Barbara maybe, with her bouts of homesickness and nervous disposition. But not Patsy.

"Nurse Mount." She smiled softly. "Can I help?"

Patsy faltered for a moment, attempting to invent any sort of excuse, anything but this. Her imagination failed her, and she knew she must ask, Delia would want her to. If she was lucky, Sister Julienne would say no, and that would be the end of it.

"Um, yes." She started, hovering in the doorway until the nun gestured for her to sit. The paper in her hand began to crease and she sucked in her cheeks, demanding to herself that she find her composure and firmly cling to it. Feeling a little bit more herself, she adopted a more straightforward tone. "I received an invitation, to a meeting. I would need to be relieved of my duties for an evening next month, a Thursday – an odd day, I know." She watched the nun's face, her curiosity, as she cocked her head slightly, waiting for her to finish. "I understand if it's much too inconvenient though, and if I can't be spared, and its not that-"

"What kind of meeting, Nurse Mount?" The sister cut across her, brow furrowed, as Patsy realised she'd neglected to explain herself properly.

"Its for…its for those of us who were interned. During the war. A woman, she's called Helen Knight," She pushed the letter across the desk, pointing to the woman's name signed off at the bottom, "has reached out to as many of us as she could trace. She's starting some sort of society, meetings, tea and biscuits…talking, I suppose." She began to loose her resolve again, rambling, trying to explain, though she didn't really understand what she was letting herself in if she was honest. "I might see someone I knew, once, perhaps. I'd like to go." Would she? Did she really want this? "At least one time."

Sister Julienne eye's scanned over the words on the page. They were formal, but kind and encouraging. This Helen Knight, she had good intentions, Patsy knew that much, and it wasn't only physical medicine that was advancing these days. After two wars the medical world had learned more than ever that other kinds of pain needed healing too, and that there were betting ways of doing it these days that locking people up who weren't able to lock their feelings up within themselves as efficiently as other people. People like Patsy.

"I never knew you were interned, Nurse Mount." Sister Julienne said softly. Patsy could have kicked herself, she should have explained.

"Oh, its not-" _It's not really something I talk about_ , she wanted to say. "I mean, I was born in Singapore, which I'm sure you knew." She said. "Though I didn't mean to imply that you should have inferred." She quickly backtracked.

"That I did know." Sister Julienne remarked, as she would have, as she would have seen Patsy's personal information, "Of course you may attend this meeting, and any subsequent ones should you wish."

Patsy breathed a sigh of relief, if one could call it that. She had rather been hoping that her request be declined, but knowing Sister Julienne, she could not think of why she would have said no. She stood up, "Thank you, Sister Julienne." Pausing for a moment, not seeing what she had to loose in regards to loosing herself in front of the nun, "Can I ask that…can I ask that this be kept discreet?"

"That's fine, Nurse Mount. I understand. Shall we say you are visiting an old family member? After all, in a sense, you are. It always helps to be around kindred spirits when it comes to our greatest burdens." She suggested reasonably.

Releasing another internal sigh, this time of gratitude, she nodded and bid the nun goodnight, leaving her to finish her paperwork, and thankful for her tone and understanding. She needed no sympathy, and certainly didn't want it, and would have been mortified had Sister Julienne attempted to coddle her, or make some sort of deal of the whole affair. She was glad that the older woman had accurately inferred she required the clipped and formal response she had given her.

She folded the letter back up, slipping it into her pocket, since it wasn't going to be something she could sweep under the rug now. She supposed she could still back out – Helen Knight had required no reply or confirmation of attendance, and the only person that would know she had, as they said in Poplar, bottled it, would be Sister Julienne.

"Don't look so pleased to see me then!" She looked up, startled, only then realising that she had gravitated toward the kitchen for a cup of tea, her heart melting when she saw Delia there, placing a kettle on the hob. "Deer in headlights, you." She tutted. "Long day?"

Patsy's teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and her body sunk into a chair at the table. "Not particularly." Deels' stare bore into her. The other woman wore her heart in her eyes, Patsy would say, and she could tell she was under scrutiny. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh? What is it, cariad?" She let the term of endearment slip, as it was just they two in the kitchen at this hour. Trixie was out attending a birth, and Barbara was in bed after a long labour, and the nuns usually getting to bed early. Patsy had honestly had it the best of the three midwives today – a relatively simple delivery that had her home by six. She prepared the tea pot, and a couple of cups, and Patsy remembered how Deels had remarked that she loved it when they were alone in the kitchen, so she could pretend that they had got to live in their flat after all. The other woman had quite the imagination, and Patsy envied it – her own speculations were always on the pessimistic side. "You want to take your time?" Her tone softened, as it clicked all too quickly that this was a little more serious that she had first thought.

Why she found it almost impossible to speak about it unless absolutely necessary she would never know. The words got stuck in her throat, and perhaps it was because she didn't need to explain herself to Delia for the other woman to grasp such an uncanny understanding of how she felt and what she needed that she got away with not saying. She watched the cogs turning in Delia's brain, feeling guilty for making her work hard for this when she should be able to be open with the woman she loved. She could see her wondering – _was it a tricky birth? Had a baby she'd delivered passed suddently? Had a favourite patient taken a turn? Something to do with her father – he was getting old after all?_

"Pats?" Just in time, the water had boiled, and Delia transported the teapot to the table. "Sweetheart." She whispered. Usually Patsy would glance around, alarmed, terrified someone would hear, but it was so gentle and soft, and right now she didn't care. She could tell, even whilst staring at her hands in her lap, that as Delia's eyes flickered over her the smaller woman had figured it out. The shame she felt over her inability to just keep a grip on everything was nearly as great as her grief over the suffering she'd endured and the things she had lost.

"I'm sorry." She glanced up at Delia's kind, searching gaze, and watched those cog's turn all over again, the other woman never pressing her, only reading her like a book – a sad and trashy pulp novel at this point. _VJ Day wasn't until August, so it couldn't be that. Wait, when was she interned? Oh, but Patsy didn't get sentimental about things like that, at least not like this. It could be…oh, but Patsy's mother died in September, and her sister a few weeks after. It's spring, perhaps something terrible happened then. But then, terrible things were happening the whole time._

"Oh, Pats. Tell me." Delia urged, and guilt began to set in as she could see she'd exhausted the other woman's usually flawless efforts to infer what was going on in her mind. She dug her hand into her pocket, and pressed the letter into her hand. She read it carefully, and then glanced to the doorway before grasping Patsy's chin in her hand and angling her eyes up to hers. "Pats…you must go. I know you won't want to, I know you'll tell me its silly and pointless, but you've got nothing to loose. At worst it'll bring it all up and you'll feel sad, but once its up, its _out_ , and you'll feel better. I promise you, you will."

"I asked Sister Julienne, and she said yes." Delia smiled warmly, "But I'm still not sure."

"Well, I can't make you. But I think it's a splendid idea. This woman's gone right out of her way to organise this, and I know what you think, you think it'll be everyone sitting around teary eyed, but I'm sure it'll be much more casual than that. She wouldn't want to scare everyone away after all her hard work locating you now, would she?" Delia was right, if anything, it might be a laugh. "Come on then, let's take this tea upstairs to your room before Trixie get's back." She glanced at her watch. "She'll be gone for another few hours at least." Delia winked.

Raising her eyebrows in alarm, she chastised the other woman. "Delia, honestly, you really haven't got the art of subtly down yet, have you?"

"There she is." Delia shot her one of her grins, something she did when Patsy was being…well, undeniably Patsy, even if it was when she was telling her off. "And there's nothing wrong with having a chat in your room."

"It's not that…it's the…never mind." It was the things she said, the tone, the glances. She kept Patsy on her toes in more ways than one.

* * *

"Take your uniform off then." Patsy whipped around, Delia in the doorway, her eyes widening and her cheeks flushing. She swallowed hard. "You're off the roster, Sister Julienne told me to let you know." But it was early, only two in the afternoon. "I don't think she wants you getting caught by one of the others having to explain yourself if there's a call to arms and you have to say no."

"They're going to catch me in my civvies anyway." Patsy bemoaned. She'd had to explain herself to Trixie once, and she didn't want to do it all over again. Her friend did have a way of being understanding, when it came to it. In fact, it was almost easier to talk to someone who was a little brash when it came to sensitive topics, as the only person she'd ever allow to fawn over her was the other woman in this room.

"You don't owe it to anyone to explain yourself. Besides, I heard her dropping hints after you went upstairs about you going to see an uncle or something. So, you shouldn't be bombarded." Delia explained. "Why don't we go to a tea shop since you're free? Or we could stay here. I don't mind."

"Deels, you should still be in bed." She chastised. The other woman had a night shift ahead of her.

"Don't be silly, I wanted to be up for you, since I'm not going to see you off properly. We can talk about it in the morning though, promise." She smiled.

"No, because you'll be in bed then too, which is exactly where you should be before _and_ _after_ a night shift." She brushed off my bossiness, never having stood for it just in the same way that I never truly expected her to do as I said, taking a seat at the foot of my bed. Being in the same room together had taken on a new level of stressfulness since Delia had moved into Nonnatus, even if they were being perfectly innocent just as they were now. It would destroy them both to be discovered, so much so that it didn't bear thinking about. Except it was impossible not to – they had to think about, every minute of the day. Delia was worse at slipping up than she was, but stifling terms of endearment, sweet nothings and the way she longed to look at her was a constant struggle. They simply had to be careful though, there was no question that they'd be thrown out of the place, and if they were, Delia's mother would demand her return home. The woman was unsure enough about this arrangement as it was.

Eyeing her carefully, always simultaneously on edge but thrilled by Delia's unpredictability, always expecting a rogue hand to brush against her or a stare to go on for too long or too grow to deep, she began to unbutton her uniform. She grinned, and Patsy pressed her lips together. "What?" Delia asked.

"You're looking at me." Patsy said shyly. Their apprehension with each other was fading away every day, Delia's more rapidly, but the deepness of their love was developing at a much faster rate than the convenience of how they were living, and it was frustrating. Not that she knew what to do with Delia. They had kissed, of course – oh, how they had kissed. Once or twice they'd had the chance and the courage, the times it had coincided, to kiss in ways she had never imaged she would, and to feel things that made every hair on her body stand up.

"My mother taught me that it's rude not to look someone in the eye when you're talking to them." She quipped.

 _But you're not looking me in the eye._ "Your mother probably didn't mean that you should ogle girls."

"She didn't specify. And besides, I don't ogle girls. Just you."

"That's just as well, Deels. But what if Trixie walked in just now, what would happen then?" She never took pleasure in having to remind Delia of their precarious situation. Sometimes she wished that her love would take things just a little bit more seriously, but at others she wished that she had Delia's carefree nature.

"She'd see you getting changed, just as you do in your room every single day, and in front of the others without any fuss. As Nurse Crane says, 'We're all girls together'. You worry too much Pats. Besides, I'm only looking, it's not a crime, and it's all I can do. So if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me enjoy it." She smiled wryly, and Patsy envied her unflappability and reasonable nature. She also appreciated that Delia was letting her perhaps overzealous caution slide. She was just on edge. Today was the day that she was going to face a lot of daemons and they both knew it. So, without further ado, she slipped her dress of her shoulders. Her underwear was nothing special, not that which she wore when working, but by the warmth in Delia's cheeks you would think it was from the swankiest Parisian boutique. "Pats?"

"Hmm?" She didn't rush about picking something to wear, in fact she had nothing in mind and was still bent over her drawers, and she supposed that she should let Delia enjoy herself.

"When do you suppose we could go about trying to get in the same room?" Deels had been here a month now, and it had been the burning question. It would arouse too much suspicion though; at least that was what Patsy thought. There was no plausible reason why Patsy would request to share with Delia, and vice versa. Trixie was, well, honestly, the woman was her best friend. She would be terribly offended. And Barbara, poor Barbara. She was so sweet; there was no reason that Delia should want to move out of her room, and it would hurt the girl's feelings so. Besides, Patsy had a feeling that Barbara's increasing affections for Tom weren't going down particularly well with Trixie, and it probably wasn't best for them to share a room.

"Delia…you know that we can't." She said softly.

The other woman's face fell. "You don't want to. Is that it?" Delia's ability to bounce back from Patsy's constant quelling of her wants and desires was waning, and it broke Patsy's heart.

"Of course not, darling. There's nothing I'd want more in the world. But you know there's no apparent reason why we should ask for such a thing. Besides, it would only increase the risk-"

"We'd be careful." Delia insisted.

"No, we wouldn't. You know we wouldn't." Patsy said softly. How would they not end up under the covers together every night? They answer was that there was no way, and they would be caught. It could be explained away once, maybe even twice. With a nightmare – they could say it was something to do with Patsy's time in interment, or Delia's seizures. "Cheer up, Deels. You know its only because I wouldn't…I wouldn't be able to help myself." She admitted shyly, trying to draw a smile out of the other woman, scared by her usually eternally cheerful love's misery.

Her lip tugged at the corner, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bringing you down right now."

"You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass. It'll be fine, Deels." It had to be fine, otherwise she didn't know how she'd cope without the promise of being able to curl up next to the other woman with her fingers running through her hair.

"Well, if its not I'll be right here." The other woman reached for her hand as Patsy strode across the room to the mirror, stopping her in her tracks. She smiled warmly down at her, and let her gentle tug urge her onto the bed beside her. "I know you don't like to hear it, Pats, but you're the strongest person I know. It breaks my heart to think that while I was running along the beach and through fields without a care in the world you were there, you were-"

"It's alright, Deels." Sometimes she hated that her pain was Delia's pain, and her love seemed to mourn for her childhood just as much as Patsy did sometimes, perhaps because she knew what she had missed. "Let's go and get that tea, shall we?" For once Patsy wasn't overly worried as to what the nuns would think of her spending extra special amounts of time with Delia.


	2. Chapter II

Stepping off the bus in Islington, Patsy smoothed out her slacks. She wasn't too conscious of wearing them, as they were ever increasingly becoming the fashion, despite outdated protestations. They seemed to suit the occasion somewhat; they were practical, symbolic of strength and a job to do, like everything had to be in the camps. She had asked directions from the bus driver, and as she followed them, it was becoming increasingly obvious that this wasn't going to be at some sort of church hall, or meeting venue, but in someone's house, probably this Helen Knight's very own place. A very nice place, in fact – an impressive, double fronted townhouse in one of Islington's finest streets.

It made sense, she supposed, that she should be wealthy. The vast majority of British women who were in Singapore, accompanying their husbands, were the wives of high-ranking military men, diplomats and, like her father, international businessmen. She glanced at her watch; she was on time, which was underlined by another woman on her heels, following her up the steps of the house. "I suppose I must have the right place then." She remarked, with a smile. "Such a good idea for Helen to arrange this, don't you think?"

"Yes, indeed." Patsy replied quietly.

The woman, who was older, seemed to sense her anticipation, so she reached forward and rang the doorbell. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Patsy." She replied. "And you?"

"Henrietta, dear." She paused. "Helen and I were in the same camp. Wrote quite often for a few years after – had to really. It was so very strange coming back after all that fuss, wasn't it? When she told me she was planning this, well, I just had to come." All that fuss? It was a bit more than that, Patsy thought, but then she often caught herself downplaying the whole thing. O' what a loverly war, and all that.

"I think she got my details from the war office." Patsy said meekly, worried now that all these women were going to know each other.

"Oh, don't worry, dear. Helen worked hard to get as many ladies current contact details and invited all the ones she could find in London. They'll be lots of others who don't know any one else, and you might see someone in there you recognise."

Just then, the door flung open, and a woman in a black dress with a stern expression welcomed them in. For a moment Patsy was terrified it was this Helen, who had seemed warm from her letter, but she quickly realised that it must be the housekeeper. "They're just in the parlour. There's tea and food laid out. May I take your coats."

Patsy shrugged off her outerwear, and followed Henrietta into the impressive parlour. As promised, there was a large spread of biscuits, crackers and cake at one end of the room, with the rest of it dotted with a group of about so far, fifteen women. She immediately scanned it, studying their faces, dismayed that there was no one who seemed familiar. Perhaps it was because they were full and fed, no gaunt cheekbones jutting out, no sharp shoulders and hollow collarbones, no dark tan and blistering, festering skin covered in a sheen of sweat, no rancid smell. Perhaps it was because they all looked happy, and she wouldn't recognise what an old friend looked like with a smile. She questioned why she even would have wanted to meet someone from her camp again, this evening was going to drag enough of her traumatic childhood from the darkest depths of her mind without having someone to reminisce about specifics with.

"Come on, dear. Look sharp." After a few hellos, Henrietta had spotted her standing alone, and took her arm. "Get some tea down you." She directed her towards the table where the tea was, and poured her cup. "Now, this is Helen. Helen, this is Patsy."

"Hello, darling. Lovely to meet you." The woman smiled warmly, she was only a little shorter than Patsy, though slimmer, and looked to be in her fifties, though Patsy thought it likely that the camps had put a few years on many of the women here. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Thank you for finding me." Patsy returned, forcing her polite society upbringing to shine through, though she'd entered the game late, with years of interruption from the war, and then taking some time to recover at home with her father once returning to England, so she'd stalled her start to prep school. "It was so kind of you to arrange this."

"Not at all, darling. Now, it's all very casual. Bit of mingling in here while we wait for the stragglers, and then I thought we could sit in the dining room and have a bit of circle time." She reminded her of one of the kinder matrons at boarding school – they all knew why she'd started late, and some had more patience with her than others. She remembered distinctly the first time they were asked to line up in front of their made beds, she remembered knowing that she had probably done it wrong, whereas all the other girls had done it many times before. The first time that bell was rung and all the girls rushed into position she panicked and flung herself under her bed, trembling whilst the others snickered, though she could barely hear them as the call to tenko reverberated in her head. When Mrs Thompson came to inspect them, she peered under the bed and chuckled, _Miss Mount, I appreciate you adjusting your bed from all angles but I shouldn't wish for you to get stuck under there. Now if all you young ladies would stop your giggling and show Patience's devotion to tidiness I should think you would earn yourselves a sweetie too._ And with that, the old woman had pressed a Werther's into her hand.

She chatted politely enough with a few women, mostly following Henrietta's lead, and probably coming across much younger than she was in her uncharacteristic timidness. It was just, she couldn't hide from these women, she couldn't be her loud, cheerful, confident self, because they _knew._ Every single one of them knew the years of suffering, of loss, hopelessness, that she did. They had all seen what her eyes had, women and children withering away before them, the beatings and the punishments, they'd felt the last cold, limp grip of a friend or family member, the unrelenting heat, the bites and the sores and the deep and desperate hunger, they'd heard the crying and the moaning and they'd smelled the death. She tried to breathe, and wished for Delia, wondering if anyone was finding this as hard as her.

She heard the ring of metal against glass, as Helen tapped one for everyone's attention, and the roomed turned to her. "Good evening, ladies. Firstly, I would like to thank you all very much for coming. In the years after our liberation, I waited and I waited, as I'm sure many of you did, to hear from the war office, to hear from the government. Alas, nothing. They do not feel indebted to us as they do to the men who served in the war, though their provisions for them are meagre too, to say the least. But I say, we did serve. We served one another, and thus we are indebted to one another, because without the collective strength of the women in this room, those who could not attend, those I could not trace, and those who did not make it home, we would not survived those bloody Japs."

"Here, here!" One of the women shouted, and everyone clapped.

"Now, if you could make your way into the dining room and pile around the table, I thought we could all introduce ourselves properly, and have a stiff drink should you fancy one."

She followed the crowd into the dining room, feeling a lot better about the whole affair already. The atmosphere was quite cheerful, and definitely much more informal than she'd thought. There was a sense of nostalgia among the women that she only saw lived out in groups of men who'd fought in the war. She wondered if they had a similar pain that they never showed either, though she reasoned that seldom few of the men had a war as bad as she'd had as just a little girl.

They were instructed to go around the large dining table, where there were now about twenty of them, and introduce themselves and, if they so wished, share a happy or funny memory of their time. Helen announced that she thought they should save the sad times for another day, and Patsy silently agreed. There was Mary, who said that her funniest memory was the ridiculous costumes they'd created for the children to do a nativity play the first Christmas they spent in the camp, when her son had objected to the idea of being a sheep and had asked to be a scorpion instead. She didn't mention if he'd survived. Then came Nora, who shared that when she was angry, she still swore in Dutch, just like the colonial women had taught her in the camp. After that it was June, who had everyone roaring when she shared the rather derogatory lyrics to a song they had devised about the Japs, only to go onto say that it was so catchy, the guards had begun to sing it themselves, not knowing what they were saying about themselves. As everyone caught their breath, all eyes were on her.

"Um, Hello. I'm Patsy. And, well, its not that funny really. But after we were liberated, the allies brought all sorts of things with them before transporting us, and they had some alcohol. All the women were drinking it, and they seemed so happy. I hadn't had anything but rancid water for years, I think I thought it was cordial or pop or something – a few gulps and I was drunk as a skunk for the first time at ten. No one noticed until I complained the camp was spinning in circles." She remembered Louise scooping her up in her arms, realising what she'd done and laughing wildly. She was Australian, a nurse, and had somewhat taken her under her wing after her mother had died. Of course, any other mother was desperately trying to get her own child through it, so she'd had no one. She still wrote to Louise a few times a year.

Everyone chuckled, and then it was Henrietta, who told an elaborate story about a time when they'd sabotaged the guard's latrine, which was on stilts, so that it would collapse when the next person stepped on it. She said that being made to build them a new one was absolutely worth it. Lastly was the only other woman her age in the room, everyone else was middle aged or older, and she took a few moments to realise that the room's attention was on her, looking up in that mortified way that one did when you suddenly discovered that people were staring at you. "Evening." She started quietly, and Patsy suddenly felt quite sorry for her, feeling just as she had a bit earlier. And then she felt guilty for joining in the carefree spirit when others felt as the young woman before her did, and had been unable to get it under wraps. "My name is Theodora." She had a clipped accent, not dissimilar to her own. "And, well…" Patsy watched her struggle to bring something to mind, something, anything happy, but she seemed to be failing. "I suppose, well…I suppose it was quite funny when the allies came to fetch us, and they all thought I was a boy, I was so skinny. Lopped all my hair off as well because I got fed up of the lice. I decided I was so bloody tired of being treated as inferior that I kept it up a good while, until we got to Raffles and I had to register my name and everything, that's when my charade ended."

Patsy wondered if Theodora had ever given up her 'charade'. Her hair was still short, but not in the style of the bob Trixie had sported for a while, no, it was neared shaved at the sides. She still had on her coat, a long suede, sheepskin-lined number, open on top of a pinstripe shirt. She realised she'd never seen anyone dress as brazenly as this woman before, and she thought she'd been scandalous when she'd bought her first pair of slacks when they came into vogue.

"Oh, might I ask – see, my husband's terribly funny about smoking in the dining room – if you could go into the parlour, darling." Helen said, as Theodora began to light a cigarette. She apologised softly, and excused herself as the room erupted into chatter, women sharing yet more anecdotes. Patsy could do with a smoke herself, and she felt sorry for the poor woman who seemed to struggle with that whole thing more than anyone else, more than even her.

When she entered the other room, she saw the young woman hunched over the sofa, her hand shaking as she tried to work her lighter. "Here." She practically lurched out of her seat as Patsy's hand reached for the woman's light. "Sorry." She apologised quickly, sitting down next to her and plucking a cigarette out of her packet for herself.

"No, I'm sorry." She let Patsy take the lighter from her hand, and she flicked it on, putting the flame to the end of Theodora's fag. She took a deep breath, and her whole frame seemed to relax. "Patsy, was it?" She asked, as she slipped off her coat.

"Yes, that's right. And you're Theodora."

"Dora, please." She waved her hand. "Only people old enough to be my mother should be allowed to call me that."

Patsy chuckled, "I'm the same. Patience is for teachers, matrons, my boss, or mother."

"Was she with you?" Dora turned, curiously, the tremor in her hand fading but not quite gone. Patsy nodded, and she glanced at her lap. "Mine too, just for a year though." She remarked.

"Two years, and then my sister." She said softly, the chatter and laughter from the other room still audible. She hadn't expected to talk about such things tonight, not after Helen's warm and cheerful proceedings, but somehow it was comforting in this more subdued setting.

"I don't think I can do this." Dora said suddenly. "I think I'll leave quietly."

Patsy looked alarmed for a moment. Had she said something wrong? She didn't think she had. "No, don't go. You can't leave me here all alone at this sewing circle, this mothers meeting." She hissed, lest they hear her.

The other woman laughed gently, "No, that would be cruel. Alright, I'll stay - only if you promise to come to the pub around the corner with me after. I'm going to need a pint, not the sherry they're drinking in there."

"Pub it is then…I know it's hard." Patsy started, trying to think of some comforting words. Wasn't it funny that now she had to dish them out, when she'd desperately needed comforting as a girl, something that her father, for all his guilt over what had happened to her and grief over her mother and poor Nancy, hadn't been able to give her. Funny that when it finally had come to her, from girls in the boarding house she'd spilled her secrets to, and friends like Trixie, their completely sincere but awkward navigation of how to handle such horrors even second hand had been clumsy at best. It was only Delia who'd ever made her feel anything more than a fleeting moment of alrightness with her words, and she tried to channel her now. "You're among friends now, even if you might not seem to have all that much in common with those women in there. I think…I think because we were children, we've had to work harder, to make sense of it all now we're older. You're so sensitive to everything as a child, aren't you? It makes it all the more confusing and unfathomable, especially the memories."

"Do you think about it?" She asked.

"I try not to." Patsy admitted, "I really do…but, you can't avoid it sometimes."

"You're right. Sometimes I fool myself, once I would have said I never thought about it unless some fool brought it up. But you're always thinking about it really, aren't you? When I can't reach the top shelf I know its because I stopped growing, when I feel sick after eating because I can't leave anything on the plate no matter how much food there is, there are so many things where you just can't stop it from coming back." She mused. Patsy took a drag of her cigarette, considering the daily occurrences in her life that took her back to that camp. She remembered experiencing the conditions of the East End for the first time, the disease and the poor children that reminded her of herself at that age.

"You know, if my growth was stunted, I shudder to think what great heights I would have reached." She quipped, garnering a laugh from the other woman. "You know, I eat anything too. In fact my pet peeve is when people complain about food. The cooks at school adored me, I'd always beg for seconds of whatever ghastly thing they'd made, and we often get gifted exotic foods from our patients, oh, and once we bought some jellied eels for a laugh and I was the only one who could stomach them."

"Patients? What do you do?" She asked.

"Oh, I trained as a nurse, but now I work as a midwife in Poplar." She explained.

"That's fascinating." Her eyes lit up. "I'm just starting as a doctor. Moved into our London house now to start my residency." She explained.

"A doctor? That's impressive. Where did you study?" She was glad she'd cheered the other woman up, not that she minded talking about it to her. It was quite nice to talk to someone her age, though perhaps she was a few years older if she was a doctor, and someone who'd lost their mother in the same way.

"Straight out of Wycombe and into Newnham at Cambridge – what a jolly good few years that was. What about you?"

Patsy smirked. "A Wycombe girl, eh? Downe House myself, and if I might say we put you to shame when it came to hockey." If Delia could hear her now she would be laughing – this side of her was one that the Welshwoman found equal parts fascinating and hilarious. "Studied nursing here. Then I worked at the London before Poplar."

They chatted in the parlour for the rest of the evening, even after the other women came back to join them after the formalities of the dining room and a few sherries, with proceedings going swimmingly as far as she could tell. And after everyone said their goodbyes, promising to meet again, with Helen discussing hiring out a community or church hall should more come next time, she kept her promise to Dora as they set off to the pub.

"Bloody hell, that was something, wasn't it?" The smaller of the two sighed.

"Quite." Patsy replied.

"I think I'm rather too bitter for all that lot. They do say the youth of today have far more of a sense of entitlement, that they expect far too much of the world. I suppose we're less able to pretend things are satisfactory when they're not. And I tell you, those years were anything but." She said.

"I don't know if it's that we expect the world to be perfect, if anything we found out rather violently that it wasn't. I think they've just had more practice that we have, hiding it whilst under more stress than we've experienced. They came back to husbands and children if they were lucky, or got married and had some, they had to go back to their normal lives. Especially after the war – women were put right back in their place. It's not a good thing."

She paused for a moment, pushing open the door of the pub, "You're right, I suppose. And what you said earlier, about it all being so confusing as a child. You make a lot of sense, you know." She said sincerely.

"Oh, that's just Delia talking." It just slipped out, and the panic on her face gave her away when it needn't have. This woman didn't know Delia, she didn't know of their relationship. Trust Patsy to look so shocked at herself and make this so much more awkward than it had to be. "Delia, my friend. I told her about tonight, and she gave me some kind words. She always says the right thing." _Unlike me!_

If Dora sensed her internal self-flagellation she didn't let on. She didn't know what had gotten into her, she was usually so put together, so unflappable, but since Deels' accident she hadn't felt right. The months of yearning for her love who she wasn't even sure would even remember her, and then when she did, the pain of loving her when she was so far away. And now the pain of loving her when she slept in the next room, lived under the same roof, brushed against her in the hallway. All topped off by this, well, what was this? A support group? Some sort of old girls network? Or just a room full of women with one horrible, terrible, thing in common?

"She sounds very wise." Dora smiled softly. "What will you have?"

"Oh, rum and coke – thank you."

They were seated, and the pint of bitter that Dora wrapped her slender fingers around and raised to her lips periodically seemed to suit her somehow. "You'll have to stop me from getting absolutely blotto. In other words, when you have to go home, drag me out of this pub with you." She warned. "I don't have a problem, don't worry. I am a doctor, and I do have to work tomorrow. But I am guilty of a nightcap after a tricky evening."

She supposed she wouldn't blame her even if she did turn to drink. Patsy was eternally grateful that it didn't offer her all that much salvation, as it had seemed to Trixie and so many others. "Don't worry, I will do."

"Never indulged your daemons away then?" She asked. It was liberating how honest you could be with someone whose deepest darkest secrets you already knew. The woman before, she knew all her fears, all her worst memories, because they were hers too. Honesty and understanding that would take years to form among friends already existed between them.

"Oh, I smoke. Too much sometimes, when I'm stressed, and god knows its obvious its bad for you at this point. I mean, why wouldn't it be? I was a bit naughty at school. Got in trouble for drinking, and other things." She didn't know why she added that last bit. She could hardly be that honest with her. Luckily, Dora didn't ask what else she'd earned scorned for, though she supposed that the other woman was at boarding school as well, and she can't be the only one to have kissed girls. Well, a girl. Once.

"Goodness, I was terrible for drinking at school. Couldn't get enough of it. To be honest, daddy let me get away with murders. Would pack me off to school with a case of wine and cigars and a wink and a nudge. I was allowed to do what I wanted, really, never cared all that much if I got in trouble. He felt sorry for me, he just wanted to see me smile after everything." She supposed her father was the same, though it sounded like she hadn't tested the boundaries quite as much as Dora. He'd tried, in his own way, and she loved him very dearly. But the skinny, withdrawn, grieving child that was placed in his care needed so much more than anything his life had prepared him to give. Children were for nanny most of the day, mummy for some of it, and daddy when he had an ounce of spare time, and when he did they would play and giggle and laugh and then it would be off to bed. But Patsy had forgotten how to do all of that in the space of those three long years, and her father didn't have it in him to be everything to her, so a clean bill of health spelt boarding school, the fate of all other proper young ladies.

"Do you find it helps to think about it as if it wasn't you, as if it was someone else?" It was her turn to change the tone with random questions, and apparently Dora's to be poignant.

"All the time. Of course it does. It makes sense, as a coping mechanism. How developed is your sense of self as a child, really? Not very. And your understanding of the world is lesser too, so I think it's very easy to feel like it wasn't you."

"There you are, Teddy!" Did she mean Dora, Patsy wondered? Indeed, she did, as the other woman glanced up, the first genuine smile she'd seen on the woman's face erupted across her cheeks.

"Hello, darling." Theodora replied, standing up to greet the woman with a kiss on the cheek. She was taller than them both, slim, graceful and charismatic like Patsy imagined an actress to be, with the same classic beauty.

"I was hoping you'd still be at that woman's house, but no, true to form, here you are in the pub." She quipped.

"I told you."

"I thought you were just being pessimistic. Ah, well. My meeting was cancelled, so I thought I'd swing by to pick you up. Oh, I'm awfully sorry – I'm Matilda, lovely to meet you." Her accent was just as posh as hers and Dora's, god, what they must sound like to the people in this pub. "Friend of Teddy's." She added.

"Patsy, it's a pleasure." She replied.

"You met at the thing, correct?" Patsy nodded, "Oh, and here I was thinking that Teddy was bothering nice young women in the pub again." She thought she saw Dora give the other woman a stern look, who quickly added, "She can't help but make friends wherever she goes. Shall we then, dollface?"

"Oh, you have to stop saying that, Tilds. And let me finish my pint, and Patsy her rum and coke."

"Jacob says it all the time." She huffed.

"Jacob is American. It doesn't sound right coming from you, you're far too jolly hockey sticks." Dora smirked. Patsy watched intrigued as they exchanged banter, it seemed familiar somehow. "We'll drop Patsy home, she lives in Poplar." She said.

"You have a car? Oh no, you don't have to do that. I'm sure its out of your way." If Patsy knew anything about the kind of girls who talked the way Dora did, and had gone to the schools that they had gone to, when they lived in 'father's London house' it meant Belgravia or Pimlico or the like.

"Nonsense, I love driving." Matilda grinned.

"Only because you love scaring me half to death."

Patsy couldn't help but smile at their continuous jousting, and remarked to herself that Matilda usually seemed to get the upper hand, but only because Dora let her. How it did not occur to her until they were in Matilda's rather gorgeous car, or perhaps it was Dora's, and they mentioned 'home', which they so clearly lived in together, that there could be something more going on made her want to kick herself. She backtracked – the lingering kiss on the cheek, the complete familiarity with each other's plans, the way that Dora's hand found itself in the small of Matilda's back as they slipped through the door, the nicknames…It couldn't be though, could it?

She couldn't believe her luck. Was it luck really? What would actually come of this realisation? She didn't dare ask outright – what if she was wrong? How mortifying. She also couldn't believe their blatantness. But then, would she have noticed if she didn't know the signs like the back of her hand? The answer was no, almost definitely not. Patsy knew there were more, after all, Daphne Bowden-Grey had happened at school. And the men who were, well, that way, were a widely known phenomenon. But did she ever think she'd up in a car with two others? Absolutely not.

"You're going to have to give her directions after a certain point, I'm afraid Patsy." Dora said, breaking me out of my deep thought in the back seat.

"I don't need directions, Teddy!"

"Have you ever actually been to Poplar?"

"Aut viam inveniam aut faciam." She said smugly.

"What does that even…Tilda you can't just speak Latin when you disagree with me."

I interjected, "It means I will find a way or I'll make one. I think."

She caught sight of Matilda's grin in the wing mirror. "Ooh, very good. I like her, Teddy. She's a lot more sophisticated than you. How would you like to come out with us tonight? I'll turn this car right around. Kings Road, tally-ho!"

Patsy had a feeling that she'd be missing out on one of the most interesting evenings of her life, but she had work tomorrow. She could also see Dora shifting in the front seat, looking a little uncomfortable. She empathised with her, with her fear that Matilda was being too obvious about everything, if Patsy was right about them. "I'm afraid I can't, I'm working tomorrow and I asked for the evening off as something of a favour. Though honestly, it sounds like jolly good fun."

"Beastly luck. I don't suppose you'd like to come for dinner sometime. Teddy doesn't give much away but she likes you, I can tell, and she could do with friends." She glanced across, smirking at the woman in the passenger seat, who rolled her eyes.

"That sounds splendid. I'd love to." Patsy obliged.


	3. Chapter III

Delia had stayed in bed as she'd instructed, or rather had succumbed to the exhaustion of her night shift at The London, though she liked to think that on occasion the more impulsive woman did as she was asked by Patsy. So that night she'd slipped into bed, feeling rather exhausted. Though the whole affair had been far more pleasant than she had imagined, it had still been hard. She hadn't talked about it that much in years, in fact – she'd never talked about it that much at all. Even at the tender age of ten she'd known that despite her pain, father would never have wanted to hear it, and she had been a shy and quiet girl for years after, carefully constructing her confident and assertive façade, perfecting it in her teenage years.

Still, at least one good thing had come of it. She was so excited to tell Deels about who she'd met, or at least, who she thought she'd met. She didn't want to let herself be sure of her assumptions, lest they turn out to be wishful thinking. But then, wishful thinking wasn't her strong suit, and she reasoned with herself that because of that, she was probably right. She simply had to be – because for all she saw of herself in Theodora, they had far more in common than just their tragic youth. She too would silently chastise Delia with her eyes in the exact same way when she overstepped the mark in front of others, not to mention the subtle brushes against each other – and of course, the glaringly obvious fact that they lived together. Of course, lots of girls lived together these days – students and friends alike – but girls like that were in a financial position not to.

It was another two days before they caught a moment alone, well, truly alone enough for Delia to bring it up. She was in the garden, her happy place. The other woman had rather taken to helping with the vegetables and flowers. Patsy supposed it was her little bit of home in the urban chaos of London, and the nun's were only too happy that she was such an enthusiastic helper. She strode into the garden with a glass of lemonade for her – an offering, as she was still in uniform with one ear listening for the phone, so she couldn't get dirty. Delia looked up at her, and in her eyes she saw a sigh of relief – _finally._

"Hello, Pats." She smiled, swiping the back of her hand across her brow, putting down her trowel and accepting the glass. "Can I ask you how it was now?"

Patsy took a seat in a deck chair, enjoying the moment off her feet and in the pleasant sunshine. "Mhmm." Her slight coy smile had Delia looking a little confused.

"What? Is there dirt on my face?" She asked.

"No, no. It's just I met a woman, and her…friend. Well, I think…perhaps…" She glanced around, not knowing how to express herself in the fragile environment they found themselves in. "It's just, I think we may have some things in common with them." She settled on.

She watched the realisation wash over Delia's face, "Oh." She said – a measured reaction, but she could see her curiousity, and a glimmer of excitement. "Are you sure?" Her brow furrowed.

"Fairly." Patsy bit her lip, trying not to doubt what was in front of her. "Dora, she was about my age, perhaps a couple of years older. She came along to Helen's, and she didn't bode so well. We popped into a pub afterwards; the poor woman desperately needed a drink. Anyway, her friend came to pick her up, and well…it's just, it was like looking at us." She said. "Anyway, Matilda – the other one – she said that I should go for dinner at their house sometime. I gave her the number, for here. One of them is going to call me and arrange for me to go on my day off. Please say you'll try to come."

"Of course, Pats. That sounds wonderful – if you're right of course. I suppose it'll be nice anyway."

"Are you doubting me?" Patsy raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Delia shook her head. "Of course not, but its just I spent so long thinking I was the only one, and then so long thinking that it was just us against the world. Its hard not to keep thinking that way." She remarked.

"I know, but isn't it exciting that there might be more – they might know others. They seemed very…cosmopolitan." She reasoned.

"Cosmopolitan? Is that what we are?" Delia smirked.

"Well, you are bilingual."

* * *

All it took was for Patsy to tell a little white lie to Sister Julienne, to say that there was another meeting – it wasn't entirely untrue, as she was going to meeting Dora – and for it to be Delia's day off. Somehow it was too easy. It was Matilda who had called, who only seemed to happy for her to bring along a friend, _the more the merrier,_ she had said, as it seemed that they were going to have a few people over. Patsy was swinging wildly between wondering if she'd got it all completely wrong, not that it mattered too much if she had, as they'd still have a pleasant evening. Oh, who was she kidding? She would be terribly disappointed, and she supposed Delia would be too, and that would make her feel guilty.

She hadn't been able to escape Trixie's questions this time, who was desperate to know why she'd be granted an extra day off. She decided honesty – well, near honesty – was the best policy here, as it would stave off further questions. And as for Delia, she was 'going to visit her aunt in Hornsey', as she often did when she had spare time, because it kept her mother placated. It all seemed a little too good to be true – their rota's barely coincided and spending time alone together was a rare occurrence. It was growing increasingly frustrating, and times like these were all that kept them sane.

"Do you think we ought to have set off separately?" Patsy asked on their way to the bus stop.

"You over think things too much, Pats. Why wouldn't we walk each other to the bus station in the dark?"

She nodded, "Right-o. But suppose someone sees us get on the same bus and says something to someone."

"I'll say that my mother told my aunt off last time I visited without an escort, so you're dropping me off to keep her happy before going on your way." Delia was an expert at creating plausible explanations for such things.

"Very good." Patsy smiled, "Oh but we're not getting on a bus to Hornsey…"

"Pats! Like anyone's going to pay attention to the number of the bus we're getting on. You have to stop worrying." Delia said with an exasperated smile, shaking her head. "I thought you said you were a rebellious teenager."

"Drinking and smoking in one's dorm room can be forgiven." She'd be caught once, and she didn't plan on letting it happen again. They boarded the bus to West London, with Delia asking excitedly if she expected them to be quite as rich as Patsy thought them to be. Since they lived in Belgravia as she'd suspected, she supposed they were.

"Oh my goodness, they must live in one of those grand squares. You were right." Delia said excitedly, as they made their way through the streets. "What a life, eh?"

Patsy knew this life all too well – though not with overwhelming familiarity. Their home in Singapore had been something of a mansion, but only because there was so much space and land there, and labour had been cheap. The Berkshire country house she'd spent school holidays in had been more modest, her father's own purchase. The rules of primogenita had seen that her father's older brother had inherited the vast majority of the family estate, but daddy had made his own way rather well, not forgoing plenty of help and contacts though. She'd spent some holidays with school friends in places such as this though, gallivanting through West London, when her father had permitted. It seemed like a lifetime ago compared to how she lived now, but she wouldn't change it for a thing.

"Indeed." She replied. "I think this is it."

Delia glanced across at her, smiling before ringing the doorbell, reaching down to give her a hand a quick squeeze, releasing it just in time for the door to fling open. Matilda stood there, cigarette in hand. "Patsy!" She grinned. "And this must be Delia." She gave them both a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. "Come in – looks like some drizzle is about to set in."

They stepped inside, where the sound of chatter, glasses clinking, and vinyl rang out. Delia's eyes roved around the grand entrance, up to the chandelier in the hallway and the high ceilings, and to statues and the paintings on the wall. "Its so glamorous." She whispered.

They hung their coats up, and followed Matilda into the living room. "Jacob, pour our guests a drink. Teddy's just slaving away in the kitchen – I don't know where she gets it from but she's rather good at all that." She said with a dramatic wave of her hand. "Everyone, this is Patsy and Delia. And this is Jacob, Katrina, May and Frances." She pointed to the other people sitting around the room, glasses in hand.

The lone man stood up, setting down his cigar in an ashtray, nodding to them courteously, asking what they would like to drink in an American accent.

"I'll have a gin and tonic if there's one going." Delia chirped with a grin.

"Excellent." He replied, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. She didn't think she'd seen a better dressed man in her life. "And might I ask where you're from, you have the most charming accent." Patsy felt a twinge of jealousy as he stared intently at Delia, awaiting her reply.

"Oh, I'm from Pembrokeshire. It's in Wales." She replied, as he studied the drinks cart.

"Goodness. And it's true they have their own language? See, I was a student of linguistics in my time, and I've heard its most interesting." He remarked, before turning to me. "And you?" He gestured to the tray of spirits.

"Whisky would do me nicely." She said, a little more curtly than she'd attended, opting for something a little stronger if this man's curiousity for Delia was going to continue all night, or perhaps it was because it was a strong and assertive drink.

"Wonderful choice." He smiled, swiping up a glass with the grace of a swanky barman.

"Patsy?" She turned, reluctant to take her eye off of Jacob and Delia as they launched into a conversation about the Welsh language. "So glad you could make it, darling."

"Hello, Dora. It's nice to see you again. So lovely of you to invite us." The other woman waved her hand.

"It's no bother really, we do this all the time." She said. "Though I expect dinner won't be anything special. Tild's is manning the fort downstairs, insisted on it really. She wants to try her hand and let me mingle for a change. But don't tell her I said that." She grinned wickedly, placing a hand on her blazered hip as she looked at the different spirits on the tray. "Now what's all this she's bought. She is one for funny booze."

She watched Delia glance over and look Dora up and down – she certainly looked a character, and although that didn't have to mean anything, in this case she was certain it did. In fact as she studied the other women on the room, she realised that one of them – May, if she remembered correctly – was dressed rather similarly, with her get up topped off with a slightly angled fedora but a far less brooding expression than Dora. Perhaps it was some bohemian fashion statement that not even Trixie had heard of yet, or perhaps it was something else.

"Dora," One of the seated women called across the room – Katrina, she thought. "Tell me we're going out on the town later." She said with a grin.

"We'll see how our new friends feel, shall we?" She replied, then turning to Patsy. "No pressure, but we might take the party to a bar." She seemed to get the impression that everyone was behaving themselves a little better than they usually would, and couldn't shake the feeling it was on account of them being uneasy about Delia and Patsy's presence.

"I shan't be accompanying you, I'm afraid. I'm feeling more and more unwelcome at your haunts." Jacob piped up, "Though I suppose its only right you lot enjoy the spoils of freedom that I've had for years. Besides, I have an engagement."

"Freedom?" Katrina scoffed. "You've spent too much time in Greenwich Village, Jacob."

"What engagement? Harold, or Bert, or that really posh one whose papa says he's got to have lots of babies to secure the dynasty." May didn't seem to have quite the clipped accent that most in the room shared.

"None of your business." He smirked.

It clicked then that the man wasn't flirting with Delia, and she felt a genuine stab of guilt for having assumed so. He was, as Mr Amos, interested in men – and she couldn't believe how blatantly it was being discussed. She turned to Dora, who looked a little alarmed, and gave the women in the room a stern look, but unable to find the words to say she knew and she understood, Patsy tried to come across as okay with the tone the discussion had taken as possible, but perhaps the other woman simply thought her extremely naïve.

Delia gave her a look, and it was one of excitement. They were truly among friends. She felt Dora's guests looking at her, perhaps they were sussing her out in the same way she was them. And Dora, well she supposed she was like how she had been, sensibly clinging to the possibility that she couldn't be right and behaving accordingly.

As the wait for dinner went on, and the drinks flowed, she sat next to May, who draped an arm over Katrina's shoulders, leaning back into the sofa, apparently forgetting herself, or simply not caring. Delia, still engaged in conversation with Jacob, who seemed to have taken a now obviously innocent shine to her, looked as if she was going to burst from the excitement. The two women next to her shared a whisper, and eventually Katrina rolled her eyes. "So, Patsy." She started.

"Kat." May sighed warningly.

"Hush, you." She turned to the other woman, and then back to Patsy, eyes gleaming. "You and her, right?"

Patsy stalled for a moment – she'd never been asked, not once, and she didn't know how to deal with the liberating opportunity in front of her, she had never used the words. "Yes." She confirmed. Katrina smiled, and gave May a look of _I told you so._

"I don't know where Tilds finds all these strays. She has rather an instinct."

"You were a stray once." May said.

"Indeed, and then I found The Gateways."

Strays? Was that what they called people like Patsy and Delia? She supposed they had found each other, but had been living in complete obliviousness and fear. "What's that?"

"Oh, sweetie!" May beamed. "Only the best place on earth. Jacob would tell you New York is better for all that kind of thing, but I don't think I could deal with all the Americans." She continued. "It's a bar, see. Open to all types, but these days its mostly ladies. Kind of happened organically, but its better that way. Like Jacob said, then men have had places to go for years and we've had to share. Not that I mind the queer boys, they're the best kind of men in my opinion, but its nice to have a place of our own, don't you think?"

There was a bar? For people like them. Weren't they illegal? Didn't the police raid those kind of places? "Doesn't it get shut down?"

"I mean, some of them do. But it's the men the police really have a problem with. And what do they really have grounds to do unless people are getting a little hot and bothered together in the place? Well, I suppose they raid the poor buggers anyway. We're not technically illegal, us dykes, forgot about us when they wrote the laws as always, or perhaps didn't even realise we existed."

"More fool them." May added with a smirk.

"Dyke?" Patsy asked, realising she may as well forgo her pride and learn all she could about the community she never knew existed.

Katrina frowned, and then laughed merrily, "It means lesbian, darling." She took in Patsy's blank stare, and then her smile faded as she realised she was dealing with someone who really knew nothing at all. "Those of us who are sapphically inclined, women who go with other women. That's what we are. But its jolly good that you found us, isn't it? Feels wonderful."

"Quite." Patsy smiled softly, glancing across to Delia.

"You can stop dithering now, Dora. Tilda was spot on, as always." Dora rolled her eyes at Katrina, and then shot a warm smile at Patsy.

"It's a coincidence. She doesn't have magic powers." Frances piped up.

"A happy one." Dora added.

* * *

They sat down to a late and hearty dinner of bangers and mash, accompanied by wine of such quality that there was quite an irony in its pairing, but apparently Matilda had accidentally sabotaged whatever Dora had originally been making. She sat next to Delia, occasionally brushing her hand under the table and out of sight out of habit. Neither of them had quite relished in the freedom of being able to embrace freely in front of others, never having had the opportunity before, but she felt that they could ease into it. Though perhaps she'd never quite imagine planting herself in Delia's lap as Matilda had halfway through the dinner, perching on Dora's knees, complaining of not being able to hear her across the table.

Jacob said his goodbyes after dinner, kissing everyone on the cheek and throwing an exasperated look at the other women's grilling of him, who were desperate to find out who he was meeting, explaining that his latest beau had to keep things discrete, to which Frances remarked, "It must be his lordship then. Eton would do that to a boy."

"Boarding school's a hotbed of vice, I tell you!" Matilda said.

May piped up, "Delia and I didn't go to one of your military boot camps of a school, and we turned out just as queer." The Welshwoman grinned at the solidarity.

Patsy had often wondered what it was. Something that went wrong with her brain in the womb, and she had considered that it was boarding school, being around so many girls, although the vast majority of them had gone on to make nice sensible marriages. But mostly she thought that it must have been the war, though she'd never admitted that, not even to Delia. Distrusting men was natural, she thought – she'd seen so much cruelty at the hands of them, so much violence. And more positively, she supposed, she'd also witnessed the unwavering strength of women, making a life for themselves, surviving in the worst conditions, all without the help of men. That had to count for something. She used to hate it, she used to urge herself to fancy the movie stars and crooners the other boarders did, to become infatuated with the rugby players from the boys school, or the borrowed actors and singers they did drama and choir with under strict supervision from matron. But now she had Delia, she wouldn't change this perversion, no, not perversion – _quirk_ was better – for a thing.

"Shall we then?" One of the women piped up.

"Yes, into the abyss we go! Are you two game? I do hope so." Katrina said.

Delia glanced at Patsy, who smiled softly, "Of course." She said with far more confidence than Patsy had right now.

They walked together, arms linked – nothing odd about that, she supposed. Unless you counted the distinct look of May and Dora, but if there were anywhere strange fashions wouldn't cause a raised eyebrow, it was King's Road, where they were headed. "I suppose we'll finally get that dance, Pats." Delia said gleefully.

She beamed at the realisation, relishing in the anticipation of standing close to Delia – really close – and swaying in time to love songs. What a night this had turned out to be.

"Which one should we lend your hat, May? Wouldn't want them turning heads." Katrina said. "I say Patsy, it'll go with the slacks, and she's taller."

"Leave them alone, Kat. They're with us, no one will make a fuss."

Yet again, Patsy didn't know what they were referring to. Delia didn't seem to take any notice, but it made her nervous, and she was about to ask what Katrina meant, before the other woman eagerly piped up, clearly enjoying leading an induction into her world. "There are rules, I suppose-"

May interrupted her, "Don't listen, Patsy. It's just, people are just a bit set in their ways of doing things." She was still none the wiser. "People dress a certain way, well, couples do. It's just how we do it, I suppose it marks us out to each other. The men have their codes too." She explained. "They'll know you're new, they won't say anything. We were all green once."

Rules? Ways of dressing? Oh dear. It made sense, she supposed, but it only made the nervous not in her stomach twist even more. Delia tightened her grip around her arm, feeling the tension in her body increase, and she instantly relaxed. They stopped in front of a door on the corner, it looked rather unassuming, though you could hear the soft sounds of music below – it must be underground. Dora knocked, and the door opened a crack, and she began speaking to the person behind it. After a few seconds, it was open to them, and they descended down the stairs.

The person who'd opened permitted their entry, well, you'd have to look twice to realise that it wasn't a man, but a woman in her fourties, suited and booted and awfully suave. She looked her and Delia up and down, the obvious new comers. It was rather dark inside, and small. There was a little stage, but no one was on it – there was just a woman changing a record before disappearing behind the bar again. Couples engaged in another dance, while others went to sit back down. She noticed a common theme, those in dresses were dancing with those in slacks, those who dressed like May and Dora. That was what May and Katrina had explained, and she almost wished she accepted the offer of the fedora, just to fit in.

Delia grabbed her hand between both of her own, and small gesture that meant all levels of intimacy to them, as they rarely got to engage in it, but she soon realised that all manners of gestures were permitted here, by the sight of women curled around each other in corners, sitting on each others laps, dancing with their heads on each other's shoulders, arms around waist. She'd only ever dreamed that her and Deels could do such things – but here they were.

"Oh, Pats." Delia couldn't contain her glee. "I knew it. I told you there'd be somewhere."


	4. Epilogue IV

A/N: This is the final chapter. Thank you very much for reading all of my first gentle foray into Call the Midwife fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy this brief wrapping up of my little story. Please do let me know what you thought.

* * *

Patsy emerged into the mild West London night air, followed by a reluctant Delia. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat in the club below – small, unventilated, rather grubby, but quite possibly the most wonderful place she had ever been in her life. The smaller woman's hand was still linked with hers, but their fingers untangled as they reached the street. She was struggling to comprehend what they had just experienced, but what she felt strongly was a sense of validation, affirmation, that she had never felt before. Delia's grin was still plastered on her face, and they gazed at each other, not needing to say anything, having spend two hours expressing so much they had never been able to in all their time together.

She had experienced times of great learning in her life, of rapid adaption and absorption – the camps, returning home, boarding school, nursing, midwifery and district rounds in the east end – and this was up there with those times. So many words, phrases, pieces of slang and crude jokes that went over her head she was scared but also titillated by the meaning of. _A Boston marriage, a kiki, a pancake, tipping the velvet?_ She didn't know what most of it meant, but she didn't need to – yet. And she supposed she would one day, she knew desperately that Delia, and she herself, would want to come back.

More than the overwhelming amount of things she didn't know and wanted to desperately – and some that she hoped she would find herself eased into a little slower – the best thing about the evening had to be being with Delia, being with her in a way that she never felt possible. _There's no where on earth we could be together_ , she had thought for so long, and had said too, much to her love's dismay. The other woman would take no pleasure in saying 'I told you so', Patsy knew that much – she wasn't like that.

They had danced, not feigning coincidence or giggly, giddy, female friendship when they 'just so happened' to find each other on the dance floor, as they had so many times at dances with the other nurses, and at the barn dance in Poplar. They had properly danced, just they two, uninterrupted by taps on the shoulder by eager men or parting before the watchful eye of others interpreted their gaze, their closeness, as anything other than ironic. Closely, and for as long as they so wished, they had moved in time with the music. Patsy had found herself forgetting the steps, though she was a rather proficient dancer, lost in Delia and tinged with the kind of nerves that didn't bother her so much. It was one thing to have once been afraid that the kiss she so wanted to plant on Delia's lips would be met with outrage, tears, rejection and ultimately ruin, or for every stolen moment to be tainted by the fear that if a door flew open, if someone came around the corner, their whole lives would crumble around them. But this gentle anticipation came from not quite knowing what to do with herself safe in the knowledge that none of that was going to happen this time around.

There was no great show of physical affection – it seemed enough, almost indulgent, to be able to place her hands on Delia's waist without worry or care – not like some of the other women. She couldn't quite imagine draping herself over Delia, or Delia her, in the way that Matilda did with Dora, maybe not even ever. In private, of course, oh how she would adore to. But their love had existed behind closed doors and in fleeting looks in the hallway, in hands held in the darkness of the cinema and over quiet tea at Nonnatus, for so very long that the idea of showing it in front of others was all too foreign. She didn't mind that though – it was them, it was their story, and Delia had always been enough for her however little of her she was allowed to have.

She wished they could have stayed longer, danced more, chatted and joked more, learned more, but they – much to the amusement of their new friends and other women they had met in the club – had to get back to their nunnery at a suitable enough hour. Not to mention, Trixie would wonder where they had been if they stayed out truly late, and would want to know how much fun they'd had and where. She felt a pang of guilt that she couldn't tell her – Trixie was modern in so many ways, in fact she would rather relish in the hip kind of place that it had been. If it was filled half with men.

"Oh, Pats. I wish we could have stayed longer." Delia sighed, as they hurried down the street in time to catch a bus.

Patsy nodded, "Me too, Deels. We'll go again though, when we can, I promise."

Delia smiled at that, "We absolutely must. I'm so glad you went to that meeting, that you met Dora. I knew it would be good for you."

Patsy was glad too, although it had been a different secret side of herself that she'd found out more about than she'd expected to. She supposed though, that she knew as much about herself as a child as she ever would. She was there, she remembered it. It had happened. She couldn't change it. It was going to simply be a case of learning how to be less sad about it, of not letting it effect her work badly – not ever – and most of all, not letting it mean she hurt Delia. But she had met Dora, and for that she was happy. She saw the darkness in the other woman's eyes, and her tiny frame was impossible not to acknowledge, and Patsy knew why she was like that and she knew all of her pain and vice versa. But not only that, Dora knew more of her than she'd ever hoped to find in another single person bar Delia, and she was happy, not to mention free, with Matilda. Perhaps it was her personality, perhaps it was luck, university maybe, or being a stones throw from the Gateways, but Patsy knew now that it was possible to have a life and be true to herself.

"It was. Thank you for convincing me."

"I didn't convince you, not really. I only said I thought you should." Delia replied.

"That was enough." Patsy said softly. She had heard the hope in Delia's voice, carefully imploring her to do what the other woman knew to be best for her, and she heeded it. She really should more often, but everyday she was finding herself less and less able to resist Delia's charms, let alone her advice. Perhaps in turn because Delia never sought to stop learning about her, unravelling her façade so carefully she barely even realised that it was happening until she truths she'd never heard herself say out loud spilled from her lips.

Delia's grip around her arm tightened, as they huddled at the bus stop, but throughout their journey home their closeness – no, not that, never that. Or rather, their obviousness faded, the true nature of their relationship slipping away to all around them until it was wrapped up a neat secret all over again. Albeit fraying at the edges the way they were going at Nonnatus. And when they reached their home, quietly ascending the stairs, a squeeze of each other's hand and a mouthed _I love you_ was all they could do when they parted, but after tonight it seemed more than enough, not least that it was backed, emphasised even, by an night of showing each other how they'd felt in ways they had never dreamed.

Patsy had feared that their relationship, now in close quarters but more secret than ever, was rapidly outgrowing Nonnatus, despite the relief that Delia could stay, despite the frequency with which they could see each other again. But now they had a special place, and a special group of people, which they could reserve their affections for. They would still exist together here, in the Nunnery, with their glances and their stolen moments, but now there was a chance for their love to overspill without them risking everything. Patsy thought, as she climbed into bed next to a sleeping Trixie, that as she began to learn of the world she had discovered only tonight, to get that slang and the punch lines of those jokes that had even Matilda blushing, that perhaps Nonnatus would grow too small for them again, as she wanted, expected, and felt as if she deserved more – more of her own life, and more of Delia. But until then, there was a home away from home to host them in everything that was impossible here.


End file.
